


The Fires of Winter

by redhairedqueen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (but only shows up in flashbacks and nightmares), Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Past Rape/Non-con, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape Recovery, Romance, Sansa has PTSD, Slow Burn, True Love, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-03-11 00:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13512942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhairedqueen/pseuds/redhairedqueen
Summary: ***I promise this fic is not abandoned, life just got crazy and I got mad at a piece of my plot so have been doing a lot of rewriting/focusing on some other fics more. I still plan on finishing this, though (July 15). Trying to finish the next chapter this week yay (December 12).***"There were men with dark oiled braids down to the waist who she’d been told were the Dothraki, an army from Essos called the Unsullied, and many familiar faces, but Sansa didn’t see any of them. A tall man, much taller than the others, skulked toward the rear of the group as he tended to a large black courser. Though she couldn’t see his face, she knew him at once and her heart stopped. Jon was still speaking to all in the yard, but she didn’t hear a word he said. She didn’t even give a second thought to the screeching of dragons nearby. The blood was pounding in her ears and her head had room for one thought and one thought alone. Sandor. Sandor came back to me."This is first and foremost a SanSan story but will also address the overall plot in the North for context. Show canon with book references.





	1. Sansa I

**Author's Note:**

> I'm using book canon for Sansa and Sandor's relationship in Kings Landing (the show robbed us) so I've tried to elaborate there for the sake of show-only fans. The rest is show canon with occasional book references. 
> 
> This is my first SanSan fic so I'd really love feedback on what you think I'm doing well/what could be improved :)

####  **Sansa**

A light snow fell as Sansa stood in the yard with Arya and Bran by her side to receive the envoy returning from Kings Landing. The visitors poured through the gates with Jon and the Targaryen queen leading the group, Davos Seaworth and Tyrion Lannister trailing slightly behind. Arya ran to throw her arms around her favorite brother while Sansa strode forward confidently to greet his companion. As Littlefinger had said, she was breathtakingly beautiful but Sansa found something about her unsettling, like no human she’d ever seen before. Her long silver hair was wound tightly in intricate braids and her violet eyes revealed nothing of her thoughts. A silver brooch depicting the three-headed dragon of her house’s sigil fastened a blood red scaled cape over one shoulder of a solid black dress with a high collar. The skirt was split down the center to reveal black breeches and black leather boots. The outfit commanded power, just as Sansa’s own.A mantle of grey fox furs adorned the collar of her thick wool cloak, fastened with the traditional Northern crossed leather straps. Beneath she wore a charcoal wool gown with a subtle black pattern that had always reminded her of snowflakes. The needle of her necklace was looped through her tight belt of supple leather.

“Queen Daenerys, welcome. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours.” Sansa hoped her smile looked warmer and more genuine than it felt. It was clear that the dragon queen had expected her to kneel or curtsey, but Sansa Stark did neither. She was not Jon. King Torrhen had bent the knee for Aegon the Conqueror to save his people, but the North remembered and would not kneel to dragons a second time.

“Thank you for welcoming me into your home, Lady Stark.” Her tone of voice revealed no more of her true thoughts than her eyes. “I believe you know my Hand, Lord Tyrion.”

“Yes, we knew each other some years ago.” Sansa briefly glanced at Tyrion, wondering what he may have told his new queen about her. She then took a moment to introduce Bran and Arya. 

Jon began to speak to those in Winterfell who had come out to greet the visitors. Sansa turned her gaze away from the dragon queen and to the rest of the party. Those who had ridden began dismounting and the stableboys of Winterfell came forward to assist the riders with their mounts. There were men with dark oiled braids down to the waist who she’d been told were the Dothraki, an army from Essos called the Unsullied, and many familiar faces, but Sansa didn’t see any of them. A tall man, much taller than the others, skulked toward the rear of the group as he tended to a large black courser. Though she couldn’t see his face, she knew him at once and her heart stopped. Jon was still speaking to all in the yard, but she didn’t hear a word he said. She didn’t even give a second thought to the screeching of dragons nearby. The blood was pounding in her ears and her head had room for one thought and one thought alone.  _Sandor. Sandor came back to me._

 

* * *

  

Later that day, Sansa walked the battlements with Arya to get a proper look at their new guests. The snow fell lightly, swirling through the air. Most of the men were ill equipped to fight in such cold and would need new armor. She certainly hoped the Targaryen queen had brought funds and supplies with her because Winterfell needed everything it had to see its people, her people, through winter. She would not deplete their stores for foreigners, grateful though she was for their help. The winter town was filling up quickly and as Lady of Winterfell, her primary responsibility was to the North.She was lost in her thoughts and worries when Arya suddenly spoke. 

“He talked about you, you know.”  

“Who did?”

“The Hound. I saw you looking at him in the yard.”

“I thought he was dead. I never expected to see him again, much less here, now,” Sansa replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

“He talked about you quite a lot, actually. Wouldn’t shut up about you some days. Pretty sister this, little bird that. He nearly drank himself to death when he learned you'd been married to Tyrion,” Arya paused before continuing. “When I left him for dead, his last words were even about you.” Sansa tried to keep her facial expression neutral, but the smirk on Arya’s face told her that she hadn’t succeeded. 

The two Stark girls stood in silence as they watched the hustle and bustle, the air heavy with thoughts unspoken. After several minutes, it was Sansa who spoke first. 

“What did he say?” she asked in a voice so soft it was almost lost to the wind. 

“As he lay dying?” Arya turned to her sister who gave a short nod, then looked away again. 

“‘Your sister, your pretty sister, I should have fucked her bloody. Then at least I’d have one happy memory,’” Arya relayed, her tone flat and quiet. She turned back to Sansa to see that all of the color had drained from her sister’s face. 

“He wouldn’t have raped me,” Sansa whispered.

“No, he’s not a raper. That’s not how he wanted it to be with you. I think he was trying to goad me into a mercy killing. He had told me another day that he regretted not being able to save you,” Arya responded thoughtfully. “What happened that night? He said that he offered to take you with him and that you refused.”

Sansa wasn’t sure how much she wanted to share with Arya. She’d thought of that night, and of him, often, yet had mixed feelings about both. Part of her had feared for her life that night, while a voice deep down told her that he wouldn’t hurt her. Dread had swept over her when she realized that he was going to kiss her, but it quickly washed away as soon as his lips met hers. _How do I explain that he both terrified me and made me feel safe when no one else could? That my true knight in shining armor was no knight at all, but rather an angry, disfigured drunk?_  

“I’d been with Cersei and the other women in Maegor’s Holdfast. When I returned to my chambers, I found him on my bed. He was drunk and covered in blood,” she began slowly. “Drunker than I’d ever seen him and it scared me. He told me he was leaving. He said that he’d keep me safe and promised to kill anyone who wanted to hurt me. Then...” Sansa became uncertain of whether or not she wanted to proceed but the words spilled out of her mouth of their own volition, “then he kissed me. He was so angry that night, so drunk, but the kiss was gentle. He was always gentle with me, the only one who was in that city. Then he made me sing for him. He asked for Florian and Jonquil but I couldn’t remember the words so I sang a hymn instead. I think he saw that I was scared because after that, he gave me his cloak and left me there, all alone in Kings Landing.” 

Arya saw the pained look on Sansa’s face and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Come, we should get ready for the feast. The people will be expecting their lady.”

 

* * *

 

Sansa chose a deep green velvet gown with a high neckline and fastened a belt with the heads of two silver direwolves around her waist. After pulling her hair back in a simple braid and putting on her necklace, she smoothed her skirts and examined herself in the looking glass. With Jon planning to announce that he’d bent the knee to the dragon queen on the morrow, she wanted to remind the North, and their guests, that the Starks were still strong. She stopped at Arya’s chambers on the way so that the two sisters could enter together. While she still wore breeches, she’d decided on a lightly quilted black doublet that Sansa had made and a silver direwolf brooch.  

They entered the Great Hall side by side and Sansa took her seat to the right of Jon at the high table with Arya and Bran to her right. Daenerys entered moments later and took her place at Jon’s left with Tyrion following. Though she’d noticed him watching her several times, Sansa had yet to have a true conversation with her first husband since his arrival at Winterfell and hoped to delay the inevitable interaction. Northern lords and Queen Daenerys’ advisors occupied the dais and the rest of the hall was filled by high-ranking soldiers. The coming winter meant that food needed to be rationed more carefully, but Sansa had found a way to have a small feast while still conserving their stores. Dishes of roast aurochs, beef-and-barley stew, and vegetables from the glass gardens covered the tables and the cod and herring Lord Wyman Manderly had brought from White Harbor were a pleasant surprise. Horns of ale and pewter goblets of spiced wine helped distract the diners from the grim circumstances which had brought them together. 

Jon rose to give a speech about the importance unity and introduce several of the more prominent guests. He’d make the more difficult announcements on the morrow for the feast was meant to be a pleasant occasion. Sansa listened attentively while her eyes scanned the room.

“He’s in the back of the hall to the left of the entryway,” Arya leaned in and whispered as soon as Jon took his seat. Sansa blushed and gave her a light smack under the table. 

 

* * *

 

“So, you bent the knee because you _respect_ her, not even because we need her help? She offered her dragons and armies to help fight the Others without any stipulations and you just gave up the North anyway? Did it even occur to you that perhaps you should have discussed that with me first?” Sansa’s resolve to control her temper was fading quickly. 

“It’s my right as king to do what I see as best for the North,” Jon responded through gritted teeth.

“And how is this best? Our people _chose_ their independence. They _chose_ to be ruled by a Stark, not by a Targaryen.”

“She’ll be a good queen, Sansa.”

“She’s not the queen our people chose. ‘House Mormont knows no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark.’ How do you think the Northern lords and ladies will react to this?” Sansa could no longer sit and began pacing Jon’s solar. “Do you know what happened while you were gone? What they said? No. How could you? You didn’t write.”

“Fine, then tell me. What did they say?” Jon was almost yelling, every muscle in his body stiff.

“There were questions of your ability to lead the North if you weren’t in the North and the lords were not afraid the voice their discontentment. Lord Glover even suggested that they’d chosen the wrong Stark. The start of winter has everyone on edge and they want to know that their leader is present.

“I will present a united front with you in public, please just help me understand why you did this. How this is better,” she implored. “Reassuring them that you were doing what you thought was best by going south was difficult enough and this will present a much greater challenge. You’re a good king and I wish to see you succeed, but I can’t help you if you don’t discuss your plans with me.”

Sansa turned away from her brother and collapsed into a chair beside the hearth. The North was still recovering from the mutiny of the Boltons and she had no wish to see it divided again. Unfortunately, that seemed like a very real possibility if Jon could not provide their people with a good reason for having bent the knee to a woman who was essentially a foreigner. Many Northerners could barely tolerate the thought of being ruled by a southron king or queen and she shuddered to think how they’d respond to being ruled by someone who had lived her entire life in Essos. 

“I’m sorry, Sansa. I should have written you sooner,” Jon said as he sat beside her. “You’ll understand once you’re better acquainted with her. Give Daenerys a chance and I think you may even become friends.”

“Are you unable to articulate your reasons for bending the knee any more clearly than that?” While Sansa’s frustration with her brother was still evident, her tone had softened.

“I suppose not.”

“I know how you feel about honesty, but, for the sake of avoiding unnecessary conflict, I’d like to suggest a partial truth when announcing your decision tomorrow. Tell them that we need her help and her dragons in the Great War and leave out the fact that Daenerys was willing to help even if you didn’t bend the knee. If she is as you say she is, they will understand in time and have no objection to your decision. Sharing the whole truth will only cause unrest which we cannot afford with the Others knocking on our door.” 

“I don’t like it, but I suppose it isn’t truly a lie,” Jon responded with a pained look on his face. “You know these people better than I. I’ll take your advice and tell them on the morrow.”

 

* * *

 

_“I should have fucked her bloody.Then at least I’d have one happy memory.” Had he really said that?_ Sansa lay awake, staring at the canopy of her bed as she contemplated what Arya had told her. During their time together in Kings Landing, she’d grown accustomed to his coarse language and knew how to see the true meaning of his harsh words. _One happy memory._ Sansa had left out some of the details when telling Arya—it wouldn’t do for her to know that Sandor had held a knife to her throat or that he’d cried—but it had been a relief to say any of it aloud. Whenever Joffrey had her beaten or Littlefinger stole a kiss that was not his to take or Ramsey raped her, Sansa had wondered what would have happened if she’d said yes and wrap herself in his cloak. She climbed out of bed to retrieve the cloak from her trunk, and wrapped it around herself once more, just as she’d done the night that the Blackwater burned. His scent was long gone and it was dyed green now, no longer white and bloody, but it still reminded her that there was at least one person who would never hurt her. Who’d kill anyone who tried to harm her. How often she’d wished for his presence, despite her girlish former fears surrounding him.  

It hadn’t been his size or strength that scared her. It hadn’t even been his scars—she understood his scars, he’d trusted her with the truth he’d never told anyone else—it was his eyes, grey and full of anger. It had always upset Sandor when she couldn’t look him in the face, but he thought it was because of his terrible burns. It wasn’t. She couldn’t bear the hate in his eyes. His large, calloused hands pinching her chin, forcing her to look up; his iron fingers grasping her wrist. Those were the only times his touch hadn’t been gentle and it was all because he desperately wanted, needed, her to look him in the face.

She had changed so much since she had been his little bird and couldn't help but fret as she wondered what he’d think of her now. A killer, no longer innocent, no longer a believer in songs and fairytales. There was some comfort to be found in the fact that Arya made it sound as though he’d thought of her as often as she’d thought of him. Gods know she’d thought of him nearly everyday. Sansa rolled over to watch the last embers dying in her hearth, their red glow playing across the stone. Sleep took her as she mused about what may come the next day. _I missed you, Sandor._


	2. Arya I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 has been revised and extended since it was originally published.

####  **Arya**

Sleep had evaded Arya that night. After Beric and Thoros sold Gendry to Melisandre, she’d never expected to see him again. While she was anxious to talk to Gendry, it was the Hound who dominated her thoughts. From the way the he talked about Sansa during their time together, she’d realized that his feelings for her were complicated. Some days he’d talked about her tenderly, and other days she could hear anger in his voice. Arya had assumed he was mad at her sister about something—gods know she had been mad at her often enough—but Sansa’s story suggested he was more likely mad at himself. _He kissed her and then gave her his cloak. She would have been his only happy memory._ Sansa, her sister who’d dreamed of princes and handsome knights in shining armor, kissing the brutish, disfigured Hound. Wearing the Hound’s cloak. The Hound. _Surely it can’t be the same man._ Arya thought back to the moment he learned of Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion, how much he’d drank, and the pieces began falling together. _He gave her his cloak._  Whenever she closed her eyes, the image of the the Hound kissing her sister burned in her mind’s eye so she had kept her eyes open as long as possible.  

Arya woke from a short and fitful sleep long before the first light of dawn crept through her shutters. Though loathe to leave the warmth of her furs, she found great joy in her early morning activities and rose nonetheless. After dressing and confirming the contents of her satchel, she made her way outside, walking past the East Gate to the First Keep. When she arrived, Sansa was already waiting for her, standing in front of Lady’s grave in the lichyard near the entrance to the crypts. Several years had passed since the Starks travelled to Kings Landing, but she still mourned the loss of her direwolf immensely. Arya understood. It must have been much harder than sending Nymeria into the wild.

Sansa rose when she heard Arya approach. She looked just as tired as Arya, but eager to begin. She probably hadn’t slept either.

“Are you ready?”

“I’d like to work on that defensive maneuver we started yesterday,” Arya said with a grin. She tossed her sister a bundle containing light, boiled leather armor that could be worn over her dress. Her sister had taken Lady Lyanna Mormont’s words to heart. While no one expected the Lady of Winterfell to be in the vanguard, Sansa was determined to be able to protect herself from the White Walkers should the need arise. Arya had begun teaching her sister how to use a dagger after she’d learned of her concerns. Though she’d had a special dragonglass dagger made, they practiced with wooden daggers until she believed Sansa was ready to wield a real weapon without accidentally hurting herself. Since Sansa lacked confidence in her abilities as a beginner, the two Starks had trained near the First Keep for an hour every morning before first light. That area of Winterfell was abandoned and uninhabited, affording the sisters a level of privacy as they sparred.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Arya said to her sister who had grimaced after getting disarmed for the third time. “You’re doing really well considering we’ve only been training for a week.”

“Thanks, I really am trying my best to learn” Sansa responded with a faint smile. “I just wish my best was better. I never want to find myself in a situation where I’m unable to defend myself again. Sometimes I wonder if things with Ramsay could have been different, if only I’d been trained to fight instead of being confined to more lady-like activities.” Her face had turned to stone, but her eyes were full of agony.

“You really must stop blaming yourself. Ramsay was a monster and very skilled with a blade. Trying to fight back with a weapon probably would have made the situation worse.” Arya took her sister by the hand and led her to a stone bench. “You did the best you could to survive given the circumstances. I know I gave you a hard time when we were girls, but you’ve grown to be the strongest woman I know and I’m proud to call you my sister. While I was training to be a Faceless Man, you were learning to be a survivor and mastering the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. We make a formidable team and there’s no more need for you to become a killer than there is for me to become a savvy political player,” Arya explained to her sister. “The army of the dead is marching and I understand why you want to learn to defend yourself, but don't think you’re any less strong or less important for having different skills. Someone needs to rule the North and gods know I could never do what you do.” 

“We’ve both grown up since we parted ways, haven’t we? Unless you start flinging food at me during feasts again,” Sansa said with a warm laugh. 

“You’d best watch your silk dresses,” Arya jested. “I may be overcome by a sudden urge tonight.”

Once Sansa had gathered her wits about her again, Arya pulled her to her feet and began drilling her on attacks, running circles around her sister and challenging her to make contact. For someone who had never expected to wield a weapon in her life, nor wanted to, Sansa was making relatively fast progress. _I suppose the prospect of imminent death is a particularly compelling incentive._

Arya continued to drill her sister, reviewing the various techniques they’d covered that week, before declaring the practice a success and packing up their armor and weapons for the day. 

“How are you feeling? Yesterday you looked as though you’d seen a ghost,” Arya asked as gently as she knew how.

“Truth be told, I feel as if I’ve seen a ghost.” Unlike the day before, Sansa was not caught off-guard and her voice revealed nothing of her feelings. Littlefinger and Cersei had taught her well. “I… I’m not sure what to do. I think I want to speak to him, but we left things on a rather complex note and what you told me yesterday didn’t make matters any simpler.” Sansa’s well-crafted mask began to crack and Arya could see that her sister was distraught. 

“He likely feels the same—that you’re a ghost. I don’t think he knew you were alive either. As far as I know, the last he heard of you was that you’d been married to Tyrion and then fled Kings Landing after that little shit Joffrey’s death.” She grasped Sansa’s hand. “I wasn’t there that night and don’t know all of what happened, but I do know that he carried guilt that was somehow related to you with him every day. He claims to have been driven by hatred for his brother and a desire to kill him all this time, but that’s not what he spoke of when he thought he was dying. He spoke of you. I think he’ll want to talk to you as well.” Arya gave her sister’s hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“I hope you’re right…. Strange as it may sound, I missed him.” 

“Considering how often he babbled on about you, I think he missed you, too. I’m here for you if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Sansa gave her sister a small smile. “We should go back now. Jon and Bran will be expecting us.”

After returning the armor and wooden daggers to Arya’s chambers, the two sisters walked to Jon’s solar to break their fast with their brothers. Bran’s time beyond the Wall had changed him, but having four of the Stark siblings reunited warmed her heart. _I suppose we’ve all changed._

 

* * *

 

“I thought you were dead.”

“Aye, I thought I was sure to die, too. Thought you were bloody awful for not putting me out of my misery after I’d shown you so much about mercy killings, but I guess I owe you thanks,” Sandor said as he clashed swords with Arya in the yard. “Wish you’d finished the job now, wolf-bitch?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, here I fucking am, in Winterfell where I first met you.”

“And where you first met Sansa,” Arya said with a smirk.

“Aye, where I first met you and your bloody sister all those years ago.”

“I saw you watching her yesterday.”

“Didn’t think she was alive,” he grunted. “Hadn’t heard anything about her since I learned she fled Kings Landing after being married to the Imp.”

“She didn’t think you lived either.” Arya spun around him and made contact with the back of his knee, the large man unable to match her agility. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you were watching her? I remember how you talked about her.”

“And?” Their swords clashed once more, Sandor’s face turning to stone. “What the fuck are you suggesting?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m suggesting,” Arya responded as her smirk turned into a wide grin.

“ We knew each other in Kings Landing and I tried to protect her. What of it?” This time Sandor got the best of Arya and knocked her to the ground.

“There’s no shame in it. You should talk to her,” Arya said as she jumped back to her feet. “She was watching you too, you know.”

“Why would the Lady of bloody Winterfell be watching a craven who couldn’t even fucking protect her or her sister?”

“You’ll have to ask her yourself.”

“She’ll probably put a dagger to my throat and my head on a spike,” the Hound snarled, clearly angry at his own thoughts. “I wasn’t exactly a _true knight_ when I left her.” Arya wondered how he knew about the daggers.

“And you won't know what she thinks unless you talk to her.” This time Arya managed to disarm him due to his distraction. “She may surprise you.”

“She knows exactly who I am. No surprises there,” Sandor picked up his sword again. “Like you said, you weren’t fucking there. She hates me.”

“You don’t know that. Just talk to her, okay?”

“It’s your bloody fault if she has me killed. Can you live with that, wolf-bitch?”

“She won’t have you killed so that doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t fucking know what I did! She’ll have your head on a spike too for making me go near her.” Sandor wasn’t as good at masking his emotions as Sansa. He was red in the face, not just from the exertion of their sparring, and looked even more distressed than she had that morning.

“I know exactly what you did. She told me. Talk to her.” 

“She told you?” He was dumbfounded. His bewilderment allowed Needle to find its way to his kidney. Arya made a mental note to mention Sansa any time she wanted to best him in the yard. She was the only topic that provoked this level of emotion from him. He would even look calm talking about his brother in comparison. 

“I’m her sister; of course she told me.”

“I thought you and the little bird hated each other?”

“Executing a man together is a wonderful sibling bonding experience.”

“You what?”

“What did you think happened to Littlefinger? That he left my sister of his own accord?”

“Well fuck me sideways….”

“Sansa is far more wolf than you realize. To be fair, I don’t think she told me everything, but she told me enough to understand why you’re acting like a scared little boy.”

“Then you should want me fucking dead, too,” Sandor said as his longsword found its way to Arya’s throat. 

“I thought we went over that already? You’re not on my list anymore,” Arya sighed.

“You’re sure she won’t kill me?”

“I’m sure. Just go talk to her.”

“Fine,” he grumbled as he returned his sword to its sheath. “I’ll think about it.”


	3. Sandor I

**Sandor**

Sandor had known that coming to Winterfell would mean facing Sansa Stark again. She was Lady of Winterfell and, because her brother was King in the North, he supposed she was a princess as well. He’d overheard Jon and Brienne discussing her in Kings Landing but hadn’t asked after her for fear that his emotions would show. Besides, why would an old Lannister dog care about Sansa Stark? Brienne knew of his time with Arya, but as far as he was aware, none of them were aware of his relationship with Sansa. Until he discerned what she thought of him now, he decided it was best for things to stay that way. He had no wish to stir up suspicions that anything untoward had passed between them.

The way his heart stopped when he saw his little bird in the courtyard told him that he’d made the right decision. She was much more a woman than the last time Sandor had seen her that dreadful night the sky burned green. Taller and a fuller figure with curves in all the right places, but the most noticeable change was in her posture. Where there had once been a scared and timid girl, he found a confident woman who commanded authority and respect. Though she had no crown and no throne, she looked more regal than Cersei ever had. Sansa Stark carried herself like a queen—she was far stronger in the North than she had been in Kings Landing. Sandor knew that much of her strength had been acquired through years of abuse and suffering, but it seemed that some of her strength came from Winterfell itself. Still as beautiful as ever, but resolute, calm, and powerful. She had a hardened, formidable air about her and he pitied the man who crossed her. He’d heard that she had already executed two.

Remembering the rumors about her second husband was like a knife to his heart. Hearing that she’d been married to the Imp was horrible enough and he hadn’t thought it possible for her circumstances to get any worse. While Sandor would never know exactly what happened without asking her, the Bolton sigil was enough to send chills down his spine. Nothing good could come from anyone who flew a flayed man on his banner. His only consolation was in knowing that she’d killed the bastard herself. In Kings Landing, he’d spent so much time trying to scare her into understanding that the world is a cruel and awful place. Now that she’d learned that for herself, he wished that she could go back to her innocent songs. Sansa was too good and pure for this world and he’d never bloody forgive himself for not doing a better job of keeping her safe. Brother Ray had tried to convince him that he’d done all that he could to protect her without being charged with treason and losing his head, but Sandor didn’t care about that. He gladly would have lost his head a thousand times over for killing that cunt Joffrey if it meant that no one would hurt his little bird again. _No,_ the _little bird_ , he corrected himself. _She could never be mine and I’m a bloody fool for even dreaming she’d ever have me._

With a grumble, he rose from bed. He was grateful to Jon Snow, for arranging chambers in the keep for the men who fought with him beyond the wall to capture the wight. It felt good to sleep in a proper bed again, and the warmth from the hot springs meant that he didn’t need to light a fire as often. Though unwilling to admit it aloud, he’d developed a sort of camaraderie with those men and found himself spending time with them of his own volition. If it weren’t for the constant the reminders of the impending doom associated with both the Others and the arrival of a long winter, he could almost imagine himself being happy here and Sandor Clegane had never been happy anywhere. He’d also been happy to see the little sister. 

Even though Brienne had told him she didn’t need anyone to protect her, he was still startled to see how skilled she’d become with that tiny sword of hers. What Arya had said to him about Sansa was even more of a puzzle to him than her improved sword fighting abilities, though. ‘ _She may surprise you.’_ _If Sansa doesn’t return the favor of a dagger to the throat, that’ll be surprise enough._ He still couldn’t understand how Arya could suggest Sansa would want to see him when she knew that he’d threatened her. Then again, Arya thought that her sister may have withheld a few details. And that left the crucial question of why Sansa would tell her younger sister everything except the parts of that night that had haunted him everyday since he’d left her there. Maybe she thought that the wolf bitch would kill him on sight if she knew and wanted to save him for herself.

He made his way to the Great Hall and took a seat next to Tormund to break his fast. The Stark siblings occupied the high table and he was mirthful to see they looked happy together. _If anyone deserves happiness in this world, it’s the damn Starks_ , he reflected. _Gods know they’ve suffered enough._ Most of the hall was occupied by Northern lords and ladies with some soldiers and advisors of the dragon queen and King Jon sprinkled throughout. While Sandor had spent much of his life at court, it had always been as either Cersei or that little shit Joffrey’s sworn shield. Being seated as equal to the nobility made him decidedly uncomfortable, but they seemed to have a different way of doing things in the North. Respect and loyalty were earned, not bought, and the people seemed to be more honest and straightforward than in that hellhole of a capital. He liked the attitude of the Northerners and it was unlike anything he’d ever seen in the rest of Westeros. It was no wonder that they didn’t fare well outside of the North. His thoughts were interrupted by the wildling at his side. 

“I thought you hated gingers,” Tormund said with a nudge of the elbow and a shit-eating grin. The wildling was dressed in his usual furs, red hair as unruly as ever.

“What the fuck are you on about now?” Sandor remembered the comment he’d made north of the Wall as soon as the question was out of his mouth but decided feigning ignorance was his best option.

“Jon Snow’s sister,” he nodded toward the high table. “You stare at her when you think no one is watching and it doesn’t look like you hate _her_.”

“I don’t bloody stare at her,” Sandor snarled as he silently cursed himself for being caught. _Is it really that flaming obvious? First the wolf bitch and now this bear-fucking lout._

“Ohh,” Tormund leaned back to get a good look at Sandor, stupid grin never leaving his face. “I know that face. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that you want to fuck King Jon’s sister.” He clapped Sandor on the shoulder and let out a hearty laugh. Sandor wished he would stop smiling.

“Oh just fuck off.” He pushed the food around his plate and hoped the wildling would drop the topic. It was bad enough when Arya raised the topic, but the fact that she knew both him and Sansa well made the conversation less tortuous. With the wildling, it left him feeling increasingly vulnerable. 

“Do you think I have a chance with her?” Tormund asked after a few moment of silence. “The big woman?”

Sandor looked up to see that his eyes were wide with sincerity. “Aye, you have a chance she’ll cut you down with that fucking Valyrian steel sword of hers if you keep looking at her like she’s a juicy side of beef.”

“Oh.” Tormund’s face fell. “Any advice?” Sandor was saved from continuing the discomforting conversation by Jon Snow, who had just risen to speak. Bastard or not, he reminded Sandor of Ned Stark in many ways, his stubborn commitment to honesty most of all. Jon Snow wouldn’t last a fortnight in Kings Landing, their trip there with the wight had shown him that much. The boy needed to learn when to lie. While he wasn’t privy to this sort of information, Sandor suspected that Snow was about to tell the Northerners that he’d bent the knee to that bitch with the dragons who kept burning people alive. _Seven hells, this is going to be a shit show_. Part of him wished he hadn’t come, but at the same time he couldn’t resist the chance to be in the same room as Sansa, no matter how far away she was seated.

“My lords and ladies, as you all know, I travelled south to Dragonstone to meet with Queen Daenerys and mine dragonglass to aid us in our fight against the army of the dead.” Jon maintained his usual solemn attitude and surveyed the room as he spoke. “After that, some very brave and capable men joined me beyond the Wall to capture a wight to convince Queen Cersei of the danger the army of the dead poses to all of the living. Some of those men are with us in the hall today and I am eternally grateful for their help. While we were north, we were surrounded by the Night King and his army. We only survive because Queen Daenerys flew north with her dragons to save us. Over the course of my journey, I have come to know her well. She has proven herself a capable ruler and earned my respect. I have bent the knee to her and she has negotiated a ceasefire with Queen Cersei so that she can bring her armies and her dragons north to help us defeat the Night King once and for all. We need all the help we can get to survive the winter and she is our best chance.”

There was a silent moment of shock before several Northerners jumped to their feet, all trying to speak at once. A grizzled old man near the center of the room was loudest and managed to address the former King in the North first. He was absolutely seething, shouting that they had chosen independence with a Stark as their king and that he had betrayed them. He even went so far as to suggest that they’d chosen the wrong Stark to rule them. For a split second, alarm flashed across Sansa’s face. Sandor had learned to read her facial expressions well in Kings Landing but doubted anyone else noticed her brief show of emotion. Jon Snow referred to him as Lord Glover, reiterated that he believed the Targaryen queen was their best chance against the White Walkers, and asked him to be seated. 

“Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark,” little Lady Mormont declared and all the room fell silent when she spoke. She was only ten, but she was full of spunk and reminded him of Arya. He couldn’t stop the small smile spreading across his face. “How will a woman who’s lived her entire life in Essos understand how to rule the North through a brutal winter?”

Jon Snow gave her a response similar to the one he’d given Robett Glover, emphasizing the threat posed by the Night King while skirting around the more political aspects of their arguments. 

Sandor recognized Bronze Yohn Royce with his distinctive runic armor as the next speaker. In his booming voice, he said that the Knights of the Vale were loyal to Lady Stark and asked for her opinion. _She has the loyalty of two of the seven kingdoms?_ Aside from her momentary slip while Lord Glover was speaking, Sansa had kept her face devoid of emotion throughout the meeting so far, stoic and supportive of her brother. When she rose to speak, Jon took his seat again. 

“Lord Royce, I have faith in my brother and know that he will do anything to ensure the survival of his people. We talked about his decision last night and I stand by him. He always does what he thinks is best for his people. When I visited Castle Black, I became acquainted with several brothers of the Night’s Watch who spoke of Jon’s time as Lord Commander.” _Gods, if she was a proper lady before, she’s a proper queen now,_ he thought. He was completely enthralled as he watched her speak. “They told me that he sometimes made difficult decisions, but that even the unpopular decisions had been the right ones. I understand your concerns and frustrations, my lords and ladies, but Jon is our leader and we must trust his judgement. Winter is here and if we are to survive, we must stand united.”

The atmosphere of the room was noticeably calmer after she finished speaking, but the air was still thick with discontent. Sandor was once again torn between a desire to leave the hall to avoid the infighting and to stay just to be nearer to her. He remembered what Arya said about talking to Sansa and considered approaching her after the meeting, but couldn’t bear the thought of her rejection this early in the day. Spending the rest of the day drinking and sulking wasn’t an option. He finished his breakfast in silence, tuning out any continuing arguments about Jon’s decisions. Sandor rose from the table and began to walk toward the yard to take out his frustration with a sword when a small hand caught his elbow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my name day and reviews would be a wonderful present :)
> 
> Next chapter will be longer and hopefully up within a week.


	4. Sansa II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this update took so long! Real life got crazy and I didn't have much time to write. Thank you to the wonderful [wandering_gypsy_feet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandering_gypsy_feet/pseuds/wandering_gypsy_feet) for her feedback on part of this chapter!
> 
> Trigger warning for Ramsay.

**Sansa**

The meeting had been long and tiring, though the lords had taken the news better than she expected. No one had thrown anything or called Jon a traitor and Lord Royce’s words had truly warmed her heart. Sansa’s time as Alayne Stone had been trying, but she had won many allies due to her ties with the Vale. In the end, they seemed to accept the decision, no matter how wary the acceptance. Sansa couldn’t blame them. She had yelled at Jon in private and her acceptance was wary as well. Nonetheless, she would continue to support him in public as whenever she could. _Jon may be an idiot, but he’s still my brother._ If the Starks were divided, that would only help Cersei.

Sandor had appeared ill-at-ease throughout Jon’s announcement and the ensuing raucous discussion. Sansa had let her eyes wander his way as often as she could without being noticed, though she was sure Arya had caught her twice. She remembered her sister’s words from the day before. _She thinks he’ll want to talk to me._ Sansa was still unsure but told herself to be brave. She was Lady Stark of Winterfell and she could be brave. _It’s only a conversation and he’s only a man,_ she told herself. The words rang false and hollow. It wasn’t only a conversation and he wasn’t only a man, but she repeated them to herself like a mantra, hoping to calm her nerves. She refused to dwell on the possibility that he could reject her. She would be brave. Just as she’d made the decision to approach him, she spotted him rising from his seat next to the redheaded wildling. Taking long strides, Sansa reached him just as he was about to leave the hall and caught him by the crook of his arm. He spun around and seemed surprised to see her.

“Lady Stark,” he said with a curt bow. Sansa’s heart sunk upon hearing him address her so formally. Perhaps it had been too much to hope that he’d thought as much as she’d thought of him. Arya hadn’t talked to him in years so maybe he’d changed. She’d changed. She was a wolf, she wasn’t his little bird anymore. And if she wasn’t a little bird anymore, he had no reason to care about her or want to protect her. 

“Clegane, come walk with me.” She forced herself to smile and hide her hurt.

“What do you need?” he grumbled and rubbed the nape of his neck. Her heart sunk even further. 

“Am I not allowed to simply want to speak to an old friend?” Sansa looked up at him and maintained eye contact for as long as he would allow. He gazed down at her curiously before nodding and letting her lead him out of the Great Hall. 

“So we’re friends, is that it?” he rasped. His voice was as rough as steel on stone, just as she remembered, but she was relieved to see that the anger was gone from his eyes. Perhaps the Mother had answered her prayer all those years ago. 

“Yes,” she replied, willing her voice to remain steady, “friends. Now will you come walk with me or shall I walk alone?”

“Aye, I’ll walk with you,” he responded. The burnt side of his mouth twitched slightly as he spoke. “Where are we going?”

She smiled sweetly but said nothing and then began down the corridor, glancing over her shoulder to ensure he was following. She noticed he was trailing one pace behind her, as he often had when he escorted her in Kings Landing. After they’d put some distance between themselves and the crowd, she stopped and held out her arm. 

“I want you to walk _with_ me, not behind me.” Hesitantly, he took her arm. His touch sent a warm shock through her body; she even felt it in her toes. He looked at her just as curiously as before and she smiled at him just as sweetly as before. She wondered if he felt it too. “There, now isn’t that better?”

He grunted something unintelligible and adjusted his stride to match hers when they began walking again. Though her long legs made her a fast walker compared to most, he still towered over her. They walked in silence for several minutes. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure where she was taking him. Maybe the godswood. She wondered if he’d ever seen a heart tree before; all of the weirwood trees had been cut down in the south. 

“Never thought I’d see you again.” He flicked his eyes to her briefly before returning to staring straight ahead.

“Nor I you,” Sansa murmured. “I’m glad you came to Winterfell. I’ve missed you, Sandor.” His eyes were wide with confusion and something else she couldn’t place when she looked up to meet his gaze.

“And why would Lady Stark miss an old dog like me?” He made it sound nearly an accusation and the anger in his voice made her nervous.

“You were my safe haven in that pit of snakes. My only friend. For all your harsh talk, you never hurt me, not truly, and I can’t say that about anyone else,” she admitted with a sigh. “And please don’t call me Lady Stark when we’re alone, it’s so formal. Am I not your little bird anymore?”

“That would be too familiar. You’re the Lady of Winterfell and deserve respect.” She could feel Sandor stiffen as he looked away from her.

“Too familiar for most people, but not for you _._ For you, there is no such thing as too familiar.”He looked taken aback, but his expression softened.

“Alright, little bird.” Sandor smiled down at her. Her heart sang upon hearing him say those words once more. She knew he meant it to mock her at first, but the name had become affectionate with time and reminded her of his promises of protection. _Little bird_. The last words he’d spoken to her before leaving her, but she didn’t want to think about that night just then.

“I was hoping you could tell me about the gathering in Kings Landing. I’ve spoken with Jon and Brienne, and while I love and trust them both, they know precious little about politics. You once told me that everyone in Kings Landing is a liar and you were right. You know Kings Landing better than them and you know Cersei better than most people. I trust your judgement. How do you think it went?”

“What did they tell you?”

“Jon said that Cersei promised to march north with all her armies to join us in our fight against the Others. He lamented that Euron Greyjoy took his fleet and fled back to the Iron Islands because he could have made use of the ships. Brienne said more or less the same, and that Ser Jaime will be commanding the Lannister armies and he’ll be of great use to us.”

“You know that Cersei can’t be trusted. Words are wind, little bird, and her word means less than nothing. Not sure about Greyjoy either. The Ironborn are a slimy lot and I bet Cersei is using him for whatever her plans are. Or he’s using her. Depends on who’s smarter.” 

“And Ser Jaime?”

“He seemed sincere, but I’ll believe it when I see it. He’s been under Cersei’s thumb for all the twenty-odd years I’ve known him. If he hasn’t changed by now, doubt he ever will.”

“That’s what I feared.” Sansa’s shoulders dropped.

“We shouldn’t count on any Lannister forces, but she doesn’t care about us or our war. It’s that silver-haired bitch with her plans to be queen who needs to be worried,” he grimaced. _Of course he doesn’t like her_ , Sansa thought, pained, imagining how he must feel. _She fights with fire. She flies around burning people._ Sansa’s thoughts were interrupted when Arya approached them, pushing Bran in the wheeled chair Maester Wolkan designed for him. Sandor withdrew his arm from Sansa’s at the appearance of her siblings. She immediately missed his warmth.

“I knew we’d find you here,” Bran said. 

“Well, I’ll leave you lot to it,” Sandor said awkwardly and began to walk away.

“No, you too, Clegane,” Bran said flatly.“You will both meet me at the entrance to the crypts tomorrow morning. There is something we must discuss as a family and it requires Clegane’s presence as well.”

“What do you need with me at a family meeting?” Sandor asked. Sansa was equally puzzled.

“I need you to carry me. I can’t take my chair where we are going.”

“Why not Lady Brienne? She’s Lady Sansa’s sworn shield.”

“It must be you. I’m the Three-Eyed Raven and wolves and hounds will always run together.”The corners of Bran’s mouth turned up in a smile, but his eyes didn’t light up like they used to, instead remaining cold and blank. “They are family,” he added as he turned to Sansa. His piercing gaze left her feeling exposed. 

“Aye, I’ll be there,” Clegane grumbled, still looking thoroughly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

“Oh, and Jon wants you in his study, Sansa,” Arya called back as she wheeled Bran away.

As they changed courses to go to Jon’s study instead of the godswood, Sandor turned to Sansa, looking for some sort of explanation. “What in seven hells is a three-eyed raven?”

“I… I’m not entirely sure,” she sighed. “Bran... changed when he was north of the Wall. He has visions now. He sees things. Knows things he shouldn’t know.” She shuddered at the memory of what Bran had said to her in the godswood. “He has a reason for wanting you there, I just don’t know what it is yet. To be honest, it could be that it was Jon’s request. He doesn’t quite trust Brienne, though I can’t figure out why, and he speaks highly of you.”

“He does?” Sandor looked pleasantly surprised and stood slightly taller. 

“He does,” she smiled. “Apparently he was quite impressed with you beyond the Wall. I hear you tackled a wight.”

“Nasty piece of work.”

“Brave, but incredibly idiotic,” she teased.

“Someone had to do it,” he grumbled. “Wanted to make myself useful to your brother.”

“Well I’m glad you came back in one piece.” 

“I’ll always come back,” Sandor breathed. The burnt corner of his mouth twitched and he looked at his feet as though they were suddenly the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. “If you want me to,” he added quickly as though he was beginning to doubt himself. 

“Always come back to me. Whole, preferably.” Sansa had been told he was dead before and never wished to experience that feeling of grief and longing again. Emptiness. She was empty without him. She wouldn’t let him do that to her, not a second time. She couldn’t survive it.

“Always.”

“Good.” She smiled up at him and his expression softened.

They walked in silence until they reached Jon’s chambers. The door was open and Jon was seated at his desk.

“Sansa,” Jon smiled and walked toward them, “and Clegane,” he added with a note of surprise.

“I’ll see you later,” Sansa said as she gave his arm a squeeze before entering Jon’s study.

“Yes,” Sandor choked out, “later.” He turned to walk away and Jon shut the door.

“Well, I suppose that could have gone worse,” Jon said as he paced his study. “Thank you for supporting me back there.” Sansa took a seat near the hearth and Ghost curled up at her feet. A fire crackled, the light from the flames dancing across the floor and the smell of burning wood filled the room.

“Of course, Jon—I’m your sister. I wish there’d been no need for that meeting at all, but what’s done is done.”

“And you were right,” Jon admitted. “About not telling them the full story.” Sansa sighed and gave him a weak smile. She knew it pained him to lie, even a lie of omission, but the fact that he’d listened to her, taken her advice, was reassuring.

The pair went over the many points of Jon’s announcement in detail, discussing the best way to handle the lords and ladies who seemed wary of his decision. While Sansa was still wary of his decision herself, the time for that was past. All that could be done now was to focus on the present and manage the crisis. She could only hope that the threat of the Night King and his army would be enough to distract the Northerners from the turmoil that seemed to follow Daenerys Targaryen wherever she went. Politics would have to wait. 

“Come with me to the rookery?” Jon asked. “I need to send a raven to Dolorous Edd.”

Sansa rose from her chair and smiled at her brother. “Lead the way.” She strode toward the door with Jon following her, Ghost padding along behind them.

Sansa saw movement out of the corner of her eye; something large, coming toward them from above. Ghost’s ears pricked up as he instinctively moved closer to the Starks and the hounds in the kennel began to bark. One of the dragons was circling the Keep and making the most horrible screeching sounds. Sansa wasn’t sure she’d ever grow accustomed to the monstrous creatures. The hounds continued to bark and bark and bark, confused by their new guests and anxious for a hunt.

“We’ll sort it out tomorrow.” Jon reached out his hand to her arm and she struggled not to flinch. _It’s just Jon_ , she told herself. But her body didn’t care. _It’s only Jon. Your brother. He won’t hurt you._ The knife slid under the ties of her dress, sending shivers up her spine. Hands on her thighs. Parting her legs. _Ramsay is dead._ Under her small cloths. Her breathing was rapid and uneven. The knife was so cold and his hands so brutal. She could feel him touching her, taking her right then and there. A feeling inside her so terrible she wanted to cut out her womanhood to make sure she’d never feel it again. _The hounds ate him. Those very hounds._ Thoughts didn’t matter. Reason didn’t matter. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it all to stop. _He’s gone. I fed him to his hounds._ It was no use. The panic washed over her so completely that she couldn’t think of anything besides running.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Sansa sputtered as she pulled away from Jon. “Tomorrow.” _Go. Outside, somewhere cold. The cold always helps._ Her feet were moving of their own accord. _The godswood._ She was desperate to get away, to be alone. _The godswood is cold. Cold and quiet._ Her eyes were beginning to tear up. _No, you can’t cry,_ she told herself. _You won._ She took ten strides, long and quick. _He’s dead. He’s gone._ Eight more steps. _Don’t cry, not now. No one can see. I must be strong._ Desperately wanting to run, she walked as fast as she could without drawing any unnecessary attention to herself. _Go._ The last thing she needed in that moment was someone talking to her. _Run._ But the Lady Stark of Winterfell does not run. She does not cry in the courtyard. The hounds wouldn’t stop barking. Ramsay’s hounds. They were killers, just the same as her Hound, but they had none of his gentleness. None of his goodness. _Why must the kennel be directly between the rookery and the godswood?_ Four more steps though she still didn’t know how her feet were moving. She hadn’t told them to do anything, but they kept moving nonetheless. Why? Survival, she supposed. _But what threat is there, truly?_ She had learned the hard way that anything could be a threat, regardless of logic or appearances.

The godswood was within sight. She exited the Maester’s Turret and raced headlong down the stairs. Last night’s snow had turned to ice. She nearly slipped and fell when a shadow moved and strong hands caught her around the waist. He smelled of leather, cold sweat, and something musky she couldn’t quite place and her pulse immediately began to slow. Sansa didn’t even need to look to see who it was. She knew. And she was safe. _‘I could keep you safe. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.’_ She would always be safe when he was near.

“Little bird,” he murmured, “are you trying to kill us both on these stairs?”

“No, my lord. I just… I just need to get to the godswood.” In her harried state, she forgot herself and addressed him using a title he did not hold. Much to her relief, he refrained from correcting her. Curling up in Sandor’s cloak had brought her comfort in the past, but it was nothing compared to this feeling of closeness. She turned her head to face him and saw his brows were furrowed in what appeared to be genuine concern. The two stood frozen in time and Sandor had yet to remove his hands from her waist. She wanted him to hold her forever and never let go.

“Alright, little bird. I’ll walk you there lest you hurt yourself on the way,” he said after silently studying her face. Sansa wondered what he saw. 

“Thank you.” She managed a weak smile and took the arm he’d offered her. “That would be lovely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt a bit like Aaron Sorkin writing this chapter with all the walking and talking, but hey, there are worse things in life. This is partially because the Great Keep is far enough away from the kennels that I don’t think you’d hear the dogs barking, but the Maester’s Turret is right next to them and surely Edd needs an update anyway. 
> 
> In case it isn't clear, it's the barking of the dogs that triggers the flashback and then being touched by Jon makes it worse. I didn't write that explicitly in the chapter because you don't always know what the trigger is in the moment/wouldn’t be focused on it anyway.
> 
> While comments are always appreciated, I put more of myself into this chapter so comments about favorite part or if you think something was successful, etc, would make my day.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are my best friend (something you liked, your favorite line, etc, really anything). They help me stay motivated to keep writing!
> 
> Also, I just realized that the title is basically TWoW. That actually wasn’t intentional, but I didn’t figure it out until I published the third chapter and now it feels too late to change it. 
> 
> (Not related to the story, but my name comes from the ["I Try To Understand Game of Thrones"](https://youtu.be/nPjetpPcv4o) videos which I'd highly recommend if you're looking for a laugh. He doesn't call any of the characters by their real name and Redhaired Queen is his name for Sansa.)


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